


Dessert

by sugar_tits



Series: A Craving Satisfied [1]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugar_tits/pseuds/sugar_tits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for misterraspberryjam’s prompt on tumblr:<br/>Michael tells Trevor he can’t hang out b/c he’s going to dinner with his family and so T starts sexting him and sendin pics of his dick and M’s just dying in the restaurant while his wife and kids are just like “What’s wrong dad? Don’t like the food?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dessert

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Anonymous

Michael sighed and took a swig of cabernet. It was robust and dry, and cleansed his palate of the butter-seared filet mignon. Amanda was singing the praises of the accompanying chevre reduction sauce, and he couldn’t help but silently agree. Over the years, he’d resolved to only spend his hard-earned cash on quality. He could’ve had a 10,000 square foot albatross for the same price as the smaller, custom house he’d had built to his unique specifications. But it was worth every penny to have masons setting stone on site, carpenters cutting his custom oak doors. You didn’t see architecture like that any more, thanks to McMansions and the homogenization of the American Dream.

Fuck. He was beginning to sound like Trevor.

Michael flinched as his phone buzzed in his pocket. Wiping his mouth, he discreetly removed it and glanced at the screen under the white cotton tablecloth.

*IN 24 HRS TIME THAT $400 YOU JUST SPENT WILL BE LINING YOUR TOILET BOWL.*

Hiding a grimace, Michael texted a needlessly lengthly response.

*Since when did you frown on sensory indulgence, asshole?*

He slipped the phone back in his trousers in time to order a dark chocolate torte and an accompanying flute of port wine. Trevor was wrong; the bill would likely end up closer to $550. Not that he was going to tell that insufferable ass.

The phone rattled insistently and he lasted a good two minutes before succumbing to masochistic curiosity.

*THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YOU AND ME IS THAT I’D NEVER WASTE $400 ON A LAY.*

Michael’s fingers moved swiftly over the touchscreen.

*Yeah, you’re above all that. Your depravity can be sampled for free.*

His thumb hovered above the power switch, but he decided against it. He wouldn’t give Trevor the satisfaction. When he looked up, Amanda was staring at him pointedly. No accusation, just piqued curiosity.

"Who was that?" she asked, voice carefully modulated to be non-confrontational.

"Believe me, you don’t wanna know. I’ll turn it off if you want."

He wasn’t too obtuse to miss the fleeting glance his children shared during the resulting silence.

"Is it work related?"

It was a subtle jab, but he let it slide. She was no shrinking violet; that intelligence and fire was what had first attracted him. He’d always been a sucker for a little give-and-take.

"Potentially."

She blinked over the top of her glass and considered him quietly.

"Just keep it brief."

Like a punchline to a shit joke, the phone vibrated. Muttering a curse, he delved into his pocket and yanked the damn thing out, prepared to finger-smash something quick and final. Instead, he nearly dropped it on the floor.

The red bloom of embarrassment crept over his cheeks and up to his ears. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before - granted, a good few years had passed since he’d seen it like this. Trevor never did anything in half-measures. Michael cupped his palm over the screen and took another peek. Rock hard, flushed red. Foreskin pulled back. Leaking. Fucking Christ in heaven.

"Honey?"

He glanced up. His family stared back, their faces a study in stunned bewilderment.

"Yeah?" he croaked and tried to regain his bearings.

"Are you okay? Your desert is melting."

With a flustered cough, he eyed the torte, now drowning in a small lake of vanilla ice cream. He had no idea when the wait staff had brought it over.

"Just peachy, thanks."

The sweat on his palms made it hard to type.

*You fuck.*

*FANCY DINNER WITH YOUR FAMILY = $400.00. HIGH CLASS CALL GIRLS TO KEEP THE DENIAL AT BAY = $1000.00. YOUR BFF AND FORMER FUCK-BUDDY TEXTING YOU A COCKSHOT IN FRONT OF THE WIFE = PRICELESS.*

Michael sputtered and gulped back a laugh.

"It’s Trevor, isn’t it?" Amanda asked, deadpan. The phone buzzed yet again.

*YOU MISS THIS, ASSWIPE. ADMIT IT.*

Fuck it.

"Yeah," Michael answered and finally found the fortitude to click the power button.

He’d answer later. In person.


End file.
